Page 73 of Declan
“Come on, boy. I’ve had it with this son of a bitch.”
Tank lunged forward, claws scraping ice, but Declan kept him in check. They crossed to the ditch where the other car’s headlights glowed dimly in the snow and checked to make sure there was no one else inside. Declan cleared his throat and called into the silent trees.
“Johnston, come out with your hands up, or I’ll let the dog loose and you will get bit.”
Silence answered him. Tank’s hackles rose, a low growl rumbling from his chest.
He followed Johnston’s footprints in a single file, pausing every few yards to issue another warning. “Come out now, or I’ll let the dog go.” Each time, Tank jerked against the leash, a bundle of coiled muscle and excitement.
The wind whipped needles of snow through the branches overhead. Declan’s cheeks stung with cold. He raised his radio to call dispatch. “Need backup on Copper Ridge. Suspect on foot in heavy woods.”
Within minutes, distant sirens cut through the hush, growing louder as an SUV cruiser came to a halt on the plowed shoulder. Deputy Nevada Shelton stepped out; his sheepskin coat getting dusted in snow as he strode toward him.
“Hey, Nevada,” Declan said.
“Declan. What’s the situation?” Nevada asked, scanning the forest edge.
Declan briefed him. Johnston’s reckless driving, previous DUI convictions, and how he ended up in the ditch, then the flight into the woods.
“It looks like he hit you. Did he?”
“Yeah, he jumped me. He’s drunk.”
“So, his license was suspended and he’s driving without it,” Nevada said, nodding. “Tank’s itching to get him, huh?”
“Yeah,” Declan replied. “Just like I am. He took something from his car before he ran but I’m not sure what it was.”
Nevada assessed the scene; a narrow swath of footprints bordered by knee-high snowdrifts. “Okay. I’ll take the right flank,” he offered. “You stay left. Give Johnston one more chance. If he doesn’t come out, let Tank off the leash. The dog will cut through this like a blade.”
Declan agreed. The two men advanced, weapons at the ready, their voices carrying through the crisp air. When they’d closed in, Declan raised his voice. “Last warning, Johnston! Come out now or I let the dog go.” He looked at Nevada. The deputy gave a curt nod.
Declan knelt, unclipped the leash from Tank’s collar, still holding the handle tight in his grip. Just as he was about to unhook the leash, a shot rang out the instant Declan felt the bullet hit him. He fell back onto the snow.
“Declan? Are you alright? Are you hit?” Nevada squatted down beside him.
“He got me in the vest. Shit, that hurts.”
“I don’t know how you held onto Tank. Let that dog go,” Nevada straightened up and held his weapon out in front of him.
“Get him, Tank!” Declan ordered, then hissed in a breath at the pain and knew he’d have a hell of a bruise tomorrow. With a single bound, the dog tore down the snow-filled corridor, sending sparkling arcs of powder into the gray light.
Declan watched Nevada sprint after him, boots thudding through the drifts, but soon Tank vanished into the pines. Declan got himself up and followed behind Nevada. Every step, a pain ripped through his ribs. Hell, he could have a broken or cracked rib. The men halted, chests heaving, listening. High-pitched yelps and a groan of pain cut through the winter stillness. Then another gun shot.
“If that son of a bitch shot my dog, he’s a dead man,” Declan snapped.
Pushing through boughs heavy with frost, they found Johnston sprawling in the snow, jabbing weak kicks at the snarling dog. Tank’s teeth were wrapped around his arm.
Declan cracked a grin. “He was warned.”
Nevada chuckled. “Let’s get him before Tank decides to have him for dinner.”
“You do know that’s assaulting an officer of the law?” Declan said, voice low and even.
“Get this fucking dog off me,” Johnston slurred, teeth chattering from more than just cold.
“Roll onto your stomach,” Nevada commanded, training his flashlight on Johnston.
“Get this dog off me,” Johnston repeated.
